The Clouds of Avalon

I miss the little shop at the top of the high street that sells hot apple and cinnamon tea
I miss the Blue Note Café, which does the best hot chocolate ever, with Maltesers and sprinkles and marshmallows and a flake
I miss the burgers in the place at the bottom where I ate breakfast with my research team
I miss the courtyard in the sun, feeling the heat on my back as I read beneath the ivy, and curling over my book in the rain
I miss Star Child’s smell and the bookshelf from which I’ve never bought anything
I miss the table at the back of the library, next to the witchcraft section, where I’ve sat and written pages upon pages in diaries
I miss the bookshop where I’ve bought all my tarot cards, and having conversations about education and intelligence with the people who work there
I miss the walk down Cinnamon Lane, through the fields, back down the roads without pavements
I miss the collies at the house on the corner who run to the gate when I sing
I miss the peaceful space where the three strands of the river meet, and the huge dragonflies which buzz around my head
I miss the little bridge and the ridge behind it where I slept for a while in the sun
I miss the clover field with its carpet of bees
I miss the secret altar at the back of the garden
I miss the abbey grounds and the pond with the big fish
I miss the walk back from Wells across fields in the rain
I miss my room with its soothing walls, lack of caffeine and beautiful view across the fields

I miss Glastonbury.

– a.p.

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